Lucy - Radio Play
by Lodestone
Summary: A Radio Play version of my fic "Sunset for Lucy". A girl lies in a coma in a hospital room, while her mother and a doctor talk. Please tell me what y'think


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Lucy – Radio Play

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Scene: 

A private room in a hospital, set away from the noise of the wards.

Cast:

Mother: Middle-aged, soft Eire accent, has obviously been crying so voice must be sad and broken. She is, while being a very serious and stubborn woman, at breaking point.

Doctor: In twenties, middle-class English accent, is uncomfortable in his position and unsure how to act – none of the precision of experienced doctors.

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Lucy: In mid-teens, soft Eire accent, must speak frustratedy – her speeches are her thoughts and are often confused.

Play:

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Mother is crying softly, in the background we hear a persistent beep of a heart monitor which continues throughout the play and increases in volume when Lucy talks, but other than that, silence. A door opens and the crying stops abruptly and Mother is heard to wipe her eyes.

M: Can she hear me, Doctor? _(to self) _Oh God help me, that sounds clichéd, my daughter, help me, my daughter–_(breaks off)_

D:We don't know. She might be able to, might not. I'm so, so terribly sorry.

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M:Why? You tried your best with your medicines and machines. You made no mistakes, did you?

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D:No, but I– 

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M:Just leave, Doctor. I want some time with my daughter, has your training not taught you that much?

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L:I _could_ hear them – it wasn't right. They were talking about me – discussing my life, and I couldn't respond. My eyes were glued open, my mouth glued shut around the tube – I couldn't move my arms. A machine breathed for me, a monitor checked my pulse, but there was no outward sign that I understood, knew what was going on. Was it a real life?

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D:_(uncomfortably) _I don't like to mention it, but you might like to consider whether . . . whether you want to keep Lucy like this . . .

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M:_(shocked) _What?

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D:Of course, the father would have to be informed and–

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M:What father? He's no father, but that doesn't matter, it's not an option.

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D:But you see–"

M:Not an option.

D:No – I understand. But you realise I had to–

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M:Yes. Now _go_."

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L:I had my mother, of course. If she was here, everything would be alright. Her presence could breathe more life into me than any respirator. If only I could _tell_ her. _(pause) _The room was clinically white, and filled with a sickly hospital smell, but out of the corner of my immobile eye I could see through the window to the outside.And outside was a blaze of colour as the sun sank down below the horizon, like a sailor drowning, but drowning in such glory. _(pause)_I had always loved the sunset, with its symphony of colours. And if I was allowed to lie here forever, I could see it again and again, for as long as I liked._ (Mother can be heard to recite Wordsworth's "Lucy" in the following dialogueand occassionally Lucy will pause to listen, mid-sentence and express delight) _My mother was saying something, but I couldn't quite make it out. Poetry? Was it . . . yes! My poem. She knew how I felt for those words, the poems about me – my name, Lucy. She used to red them to me when I was a defenceless child, and now she read them to me when I was defenceless again. _(Mother's voice tails off) _No! Don't stop! I wanted to scream, shout, but my body wouldn't let me. She rose, and began to leave, and I couldn't stop her, couldn't make her stay, couldn't dry her flooding tears, couldn't, couldn't, couldn't. _(beeping gets louder) _Stay! my mind cried, but there was no point.

Alone, and not even able to weep for it.

I could not see them, but I could hear the hushed voices talking outside my room. _(we hear faint talking and sound is as Lucy describes)_ My mother's tears, the doctor's comfort, the shushing and there-theres. She gradually calmed, and I felt my mind tense at the thought of her return, the comfort of her soft voice.

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But instead all I heard were the gradual fading of footsteps down the corridor, taking her even further from me. I couldn't understand it, what had _I_ done wrong?

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I longed for the old times back in Ireland, when I had a mother and a father, and a proper home. Before the break-up, before the move to that grotty flat in London. London with its horrible smells and noise and traffic.

Of course, it was the traffic that was the problem. It never occurs to you, when there is a street you cross every day, that there's still a danger to it.

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I could still see it now, the oncoming car, engine roaring like a lion, headlights for eyes, and the perfect still moment before it hit, when I could see every detail of the driver's face, her horror. Mine too.

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I lay there remembering that moment for what seemed like hours. And that's a silly cliché, because for all I knew it _was_ hours, because I had no watch or clock to measure the time by.

The voices outside faded back into focus as they travelled up the corridor, on the edge of audibility, but still there.

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D:Are you sure?

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M:No. But that's not the point, is it?

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D:I think I know what you mean. I can set the procedures in motion now. As I said, Lucy's father must be contacted and–

M:Yes, I understand that."

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(Throughout the following the beeping becomes gradually faster and louder)

L:No. No, no, no! That wasn't my mother talking, not my mum saying those words, it couldn't be. I knew exactly what they were talking about, knew what it meant. I felt rising panic, and again the urge to shout, they couldn't do this – I am Lucy, and I am here, and I–

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(We hear one final echoing beep)

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Harry Smee-Giles


End file.
